


Letters To A Ghost

by TheScienceOfDeduction



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mild slash, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 02:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScienceOfDeduction/pseuds/TheScienceOfDeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A month after Sherlock's fall, John writes him a letter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

221B Baker Street 

London

NW1 6XE 

15th July 2010 

Dear Sherlock, 

I don't even know why I'm writing this. It's not like it'll bring you back. I know that, I'm not stupid, even if I am an 'idiot'. You would have laughed at that, I think. Or maybe just smiled that infuriating smile of yours, I don't know.

I don’t really know what I’m meant to do now. It’s been a month, and I’m still here in 221B, waiting. Just sitting in my chair, staring at the empty seat opposite me. Sometimes, I swear I can feel you looking back. 

But you're fading, your memory’s withering away. The media stopped mobbing me for quotes weeks ago, the story’s dead. Nobody cares anymore. Nobody but me. The flat doesn't even feel like you anymore. It's too _clean_. It's losing your signature, your scent. To think of all the times I yelled at you to clean up those experiments, or not leave your clothes everywhere. Now I'd give the world to have that chaos, that insane, beautiful mayhem back for one more day. Just one. Would that be too much to ask? 

I haven't got rid of your things, though. They're still there. I couldn't bring myself to give them away. Oh, apart from your violin. I gave that to Mycroft. I don't know why he'd want it, you told me he never learnt to play it. And I never had him pegged as the type to keep mementos. 

And now I'm getting sidetracked. There was something that needed saying. Something I'd never told you. Something I'd give my life to say now. Sherlock, I love you. You're brilliant and stupid and wonderful and silly and beautiful, and I love you. And no matter how long it gets, I will never forget you, I swear. And I'll wait for you. Even if I just sit in our flat till the end of my days, I will never stop waiting for you to come home. Never. 

Maybe I am going mad. Writing letters to ghosts. Trying to bring you back from where I know there can be no return. But maybe I don't care, because, Sherlock Holmes, you were, and always will be, the greatest man I've ever known, and there is no-one on this planet that I would rather wait for. Even if it means I’ll wait forever. 

Yours Eternally, 

John.


	2. Chapter 2

221B Baker Street

London

NW1 6XE

18th August 

Dear Sherlock,

Nothing has changed. I’m still here, you’re still not. I haven’t left the flat in weeks, not for anything. Except from your funeral. We held that at the end of last month. A bit late, I know. But I just couldn’t face it, couldn’t accept that you were gone. I didn't want to seal the fact that you're really, truly gone. Because I know it's not true, I'm sure of it. You wouldn't just jump, not without a reason. You wouldn't just leave us. 

Me and Mrs Hudson were the only ones there. We weren't sure who you'd have wanted to be there. Greg never answers his phone, not anymore, and Mycroft… 

Well, he’s Mycroft. He dropped round a few days ago. Said he was busy, as always. Something about the Chinese stock market, I wasn’t really paying attention. There’s something… Something I can’t really put my finger on. 

It’s almost like he’s hiding something. It’s almost impossible to see, but anybody who knows him, or you, would know. It’s his eyes; I could be imagining it, but he seems tired. Sad. If he wasn’t Mycroft, I’d say he missed you. But he is, and of course he doesn’t. Emotions wasting time, and all that. 

And Lestrade... He lost his job last week, after the chief constable found out about all the cases you helped on. He says he's fine, he doesn't care, it's not important, but I know he's lying. When we used to meet up at the pub, he'd always talk about how much he loved that job. The excitement, the danger, saving lives. I don't think he blames you, I think he's still glad you helped. And he doesn't think you were a fake either. He still believes in you. 

Please, Sherlock. Come home. I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again, as many times as I need to, to make it come true. But this time, it's not just for me. We all need you: Greg, Mrs Hudson, even Mycroft. You can't run forever, Sherlock, not when we need you so much. London needs you. I need you, Sherlock Holmes. 

And… What I said before, I meant it. I really do. Love you, I mean. I just wish I’d told you so before. Even if you didn’t feel the same, at least you would have known. And if you had felt the same way… I’m not going to think about that. There’s no point wondering about “what would have happened”. You’re not here, and you don’t know. And you probably never will, not now. 

Yours Forever, 

John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's Chapter 2! I apologize for the delay, my computer hates me... I'll normally try to have a new chapter up every two days, unless I've had to fake my own death or similar :P

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first Sherlock fic I've had the guts to publish; constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated!


End file.
